


We, Mudd

by airandangels



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Artificial Life, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/airandangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D is cruising through space when a distress call is detected. The party in distress, one Harcourt Fenton Mudd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Message

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story because I've always wished TNG had linked back to the portrayals of androids in TOS, 'What Are Little Girls Made Of?' and 'I, Mudd.'
> 
>  **Preliminaries:** This story takes place in an alternate universe/timeline at a point roughly equivalent to the third season of _Star Trek: the Next Generation._ Some things are different: Tasha Yar is still alive, for a biggie. If you notice discrepancies between what I write here and TV canon, I appreciate you letting me know about it in the comments. I may make changes based on that, but I may also decide to let something pass as just one of the alternate universe’s differences.  
>  I’ve chosen to set this in an AU for three main reasons:  
> • this way Tasha can take part, at a point where Data’s character development is reasonably sophisticated - I like Tasha and wish Denise Crosby had hung in there a bit longer, because I’m sure she would have got some of the character development she wanted before long  
> • this way I don’t have to avoid events which would change how things would develop after that point (it must have been frustrating to write tie-in novels knowing that you had to hit the reset button at the end of the plot. I like to imagine that the last page of every one ends with ‘Captain Picard surveyed the faces of his bridge crew. “Well done, all of you,” he said warmly. “Now, let us never speak of this again.”’)  
> • the above loophole re: inconsistency with canon past events is comfortably open :D  
> The use of the names Geiszler and Gottlieb is a reference to _Pacific Rim_ , purely because I believe they’d _love_ to be in Starfleet, but they’re not part of the story, it's just a cameo. Just picture them looking cute in their uniforms. Some days Newt wears the skant version to stick it to the Man.

_Stardate 308969, Counselor’s log, personal._

_I saw Lieutenant Commander Data again today. We ended up having a very literary discussion about Sense and Sensibility, of all books. He wanted to know my thoughts about overindulging in emotion - indeed, if I thought overindulgence was possible. Counselling Data is such an interesting experience, because I have to reconsider familiar concepts from first principles to be able to explain them to him. I asked him, as tactfully as I could, why he happened to be concerned about this, and he earnestly said ‘Although I do not, at present, experience emotion, it is as well to be prepared.’ I suppose it’s good to know that if we ever have an emotional Data, he won’t need a fainting couch._

Deanna Troi closed her log with a fond smile, and after a quick comfort stop, made her way to the main bridge. As she entered, she was aware of who was there by the familiar sense of their personalities and emotions, and looking around only confirmed it. Will Riker was in the big chair, while Data and Wesley were at the forward stations. Well, she couldn’t have known about Data. She had never been able to detect his consciousness. At the rear stations were two science officers she knew slightly, Geiszler and Gottlieb, intent on their LCARS display and squabbling in whispers over its significance, and Tasha Yar was standing at her security post at the centre of the sweeping wooden horseshoe console. 

Deanna detected a tremor of anxiety from Tasha, something more than her usual vigilance. Therapy and time to heal had helped her down from the exhausting near-constant red alert developed by her childhood traumas, but even Tasha’s resting state was always more alert and wary than average. She seemed to be handling the anxiety, though, because Deanna also sensed confidence. Just to encourage her, she gave her a friendly grin as she walked down to take her seat at Will’s left.

‘Morning, Deanna,’ he said, but anything else he would have said was cut off by Wesley’s interjection.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘receiving an unknown subspace transmission. Audio only, and it appears to be a recorded message on loop.’ He swivelled in his chair to face the commander.

Will leaned forward keenly. ‘Let’s hear it,’ he said.

Wesley touched his console, and through the bridge speakers they heard a voice like that of an elderly and infirm human man. It was husky and reedy, but spoke with urgency.

‘...if you find this message, please. Please help me. I don’t know how long I -’ There was a crackle, and the loop resumed. ‘This is Harcourt Fenton Mudd of the planet Mudd.’ The voice gave a string of Alpha Quadrant co-ordinates. ‘I have been sentenced without due process to a cruel and unusual punishment. This is inhuman. Quite literally inhuman! Requesting rescue by… I don’t care who. I can reward you. Whatever you want. If you find this message, please...’ The voice faded out.

Will stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘Any more information?’

‘The source of the transmission is a small probe ten point six kilometres off the port bow,’ Data reported.

‘Scan it. If it seems safe, bring it on board and examine it. Wes, I want you to check records for any mention of Harcourt Fenton Mudd. The name is vaguely familiar. I’ll inform the captain, and we’ll meet to discuss your findings as soon as you can report.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Android and boy turned swiftly to their tasks.

Deanna sat back in her chair. The psychic atmosphere of the bridge had changed, the tension and curiosity rising, with a touch of excitement, the exhilarating feelings of explorers on the brink of new discoveries. She got no empathic impression from the recording, but to her trained ear the voice had been that of a man under grave stress. His breathing sounds were effortful, and she suspected he was physically unwell. Could they still help the unknown Mr Mudd, or was his recorded voice only one of the many ghosts of deep space, a dead man talking?

 

Wesley sat up straight, his hands pressed together in his lap. He was still sometimes both nervous and excited to be included in high-level meetings like this. His mother, across the glossy black conference table, caught his eye and gave him a discreet smile. He had to admit, it was great to have her back. After a year of independence, he was actually ready to slip back into being somebody’s kid for a while, if only for the hugs.

Around the table, Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, Dr Crusher, and Lieutenants Yar, Worf and La Forge were listening intently to Lieutenant Commander Data’s report. His pale fingers tapped slightly on the tabletop as he spoke.

‘The probe we intercepted does not reflect the design or engineering of any Federation member civilisation, and bears no recognisable manufacturer’s markings. Its hardware and software are simple but highly efficient, and this combined with the recorded speaker’s use of Terran language and Starfleet space co-ordinates indicates that it comes from a place with advanced technology and at least some contact with extraplanetary life. Its accessible memory contains only the audio recording that I have played; no other data was present. It appears to serve no other purpose than a distress call.’

‘Thank you, Mr Data,’ the captain said, and swivelled his chair slightly towards Wesley’s, resting one elbow on the table. ‘Mr Crusher, report. What have you found in the records?’

‘Well, sir,’ Wesley began, ‘a search on the name brought a criminal record right up. Harcourt Mudd lived last century. He was born on Earth, in Bakersfield, California, twenty-two twenty-one, and educated there and in San Francisco. He was married to a Stella Drewe, twenty-two forty-four. He worked in the San Francisco spaceport and got his master’s licence for spacecraft, but he was let go because of some discrepancies about cargo manifests. The marriage really wasn’t happy and he took off and abandoned Mrs Mudd in twenty-two-sixty. From then on, well, he had kind of a colourful career. He was a con artist, a smuggler, a counterfeiter, a spaceship thief, he received and transported stolen goods, all over the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. He got caught a couple times. He lost his master’s licence, and he was sentenced to psychiatric treatment.’

‘He sounds like an interesting character,’ Riker said, half-smiling.

‘He sounds more like a Ferengi than the typical Human,’ Worf grunted.

‘After treatment, his doctors weren’t convinced it had been effective,’ Wesley went on. ‘They said he had strongly developed narcissistic traits and a grandiose view of the universe and his importance in it. Even if he was confronted with evidence of how his crimes had directly hurt real people, he’d come up with justifications or just denial.’

‘Our current rehabilitation techniques were in their infancy then,’ Counselor Troi said, nodding. ‘It was a time of great social change - if you can believe it, the death penalty for murder was still in place. Today, we might be able to help someone like him to live a productive life.’

‘Or not,’ said the captain. ‘He sounds like a confirmed reprobate. Is there any more, Wesley? Something to explain how his voice came to be on that probe?’

‘That’s what I’m getting to, sir. Commander Riker thought his name seemed familiar, and that’s because he had two big run-ins with the _Enterprise_ of his time, under Captain Kirk. The first time they busted a scam he was running that was kind of a combination of sex trafficking and drug dealing.’

‘Busted a scam?’ Riker repeated, his eyes twinkling.

‘He went to jail, on Rigel I, but he escaped during a systems failure, stole another ship and started again. He kept going with his shady deals until, on the run from a death penalty on Deneb V, he landed on a previously uncharted planet, where the _Enterprise_ encountered him again some months later. And this is where it gets really interesting, sir: the planet was inhabited entirely by androids. Not completely autonomous androids like you, Data,’ he said, seeing Data’s eyebrows rise, ‘but very sophisticated ones. They were the survivors of an ancient colony of an extinct alien race from the Andromeda Galaxy, created to serve and to make the planet productive. It seems like Mudd was delighted. The androids wanted to learn all about humanity, and in exchange they took care of all his needs, so he stayed and declared himself king and renamed the planet Mudd.’

‘I suppose it’s a decent pun on Earth,’ Geordi said, shrugging, ‘but I hate to think of a planet of androids getting their first impression of humanity from a shady type like that.’

‘They let him modify their appearance, too,’ Wesley went on. ‘So he changed all but one of them into - well, beautiful young women. He had whole series of twins and triplets and things, the Alice series, the Barbara series.’ He hoped his voice sounded suave and unimpressed.

‘And the other android?’ Data asked quietly.

‘Well, that one was special. The androids had a kind of hive mind and that one was the central control locus. Mudd made it look like a man. And named him Norman.’ He shrugged one shoulder and saw Geordi suppressing a smile.

‘So as well as a criminal, he was something of a misogynist,’ Beverly observed. She and Deanna exchanged glances.

‘And the _Enterprise_ happened by chance upon this con man’s paradise planet?’ Picard asked.

‘No, sir, they were led there. The thing is, the androids wouldn’t let Mudd leave. He was their king but also their prisoner. So he promised them that if they’d set him free, he would find them some more humans to study. A trade.’

‘Surely many cyberneticists would eagerly take up the opportunity for a cultural exchange and mutual study,’ Data said.

‘Yeah, but Mudd was a con man, so he didn’t think of just inviting people to come stay. He figured that he had to trick them, so he sent Norman off in his little ship, telling him to find a starship, get control of it and bring it back to Mudd. The androids could keep the crew there. And the ship he found was the _Enterprise._ He disguised himself as a science officer and finagled his way on board and worked there.’

‘That’s appalling!’ Tasha exclaimed. ‘Who was their head of security?’

‘I don’t know,’ Wesley admitted. ‘The officers got suspicious because he seemed so unemotional, and refused to have a routine physical. Just as they were figuring it out, he overrode the ship’s navigation system and set a course for Mudd.’ He noticed Data’s eyebrows, like brushstrokes in white paint, had crumpled together as if in consternation. ‘Data, are you okay?’

‘It appears that I have been wrong in believing myself the first android to serve in Starfleet,’ Data said.

‘Norman doesn’t count,’ Geordi said reassuringly. ‘He wasn’t even a real officer. Go on, Wes.’

‘On Mudd, an away team from the _Enterprise_ was presented to Harry Mudd. He told him the story and, you know, showed them the girls. Some of the crew were kind of tempted to stay - because there was some really fascinating technology on the planet that they wanted to learn more about,’ Wesley added hastily, ‘and the androids promised that they could put a human brain into an android body that would last for hundreds of thousands of years. But in the end, they didn’t want to give up their freedom. The science officer, Commander Spock, figured out how the hive mind worked, and they formed a plan to attack the androids’ minds with illogical statements. Paradoxes, acting crazy. The androids got so confused that they just shut down. Finally they attacked Norman and Captain Kirk knocked him out with the Liar’s Paradox.’

‘An ingenious solution,’ Picard commented. ‘And what of Mudd?’

‘The _Enterprise_ left him there. The androids rebooted, and decided they would study him as an example of human failure. And, under instruction from the _Enterprise_ crew, they made multiple replicas of Mrs Mudd, Stella - he already had one, that he used to tell to shut up whenever he wanted and her programming made her do it.’

‘This is the most sexist thing I ever heard,’ Tasha muttered.

‘A man entirely without honour or respect,’ Worf rumbled.

‘Anyway, the multiple Mrs Mudds’ job was to tell him off all the time for the rest of his life,’ Wesley finished lamely. ‘I guess that was what he meant in the recording, about a cruel and unusual punishment.’

‘It does sound harsh,’ Riker said. ‘He deserved punishment, but there’s no opportunity there for rehabilitation.’

‘Out on the frontier, starship captains often have to make judgements without benefit of a judge and jury,’ Captain Picard mused. ‘Such decisions were particularly rough and ready in Kirk’s day. But you have a point, Number One. This bears further investigation. Is that all, Wesley?’

‘That’s all, sir,’ Wesley affirmed. ‘No references to the man or the planet in Starfleet records after that date. I also searched widely available news and history databases and found no stories about contact with a planet of androids in that sector - or a planet of androids at all.’

‘Thoughts?’ Picard asked, turning it over to the officers.

‘This was a very long time ago, and by the dates you gave us, Wes, Mudd was already middle-aged,’ Tasha said. ‘It’s most likely that he managed to sneak out that distress call, but has died of old age since then. And honestly, good riddance.’

‘Wes, what was the state of the androids' medical knowledge?’ Beverly asked, leaning forward. ‘They must have had advanced surgical and neurological techniques if they could get a human brain to interface with an android body and stay alive and functional for thousands of years - assuming that was a genuine promise.’

‘Oh yes,’ Wesley said, nodding. ‘That was one of the things that tempted the crew to stay - they had huge libraries full of all the ancient aliens’ information, and advanced medical research labs. Engineering shops, too.’

‘Then we have to consider the possibility,’ she said, ‘that they’ve been able to extend Mudd’s natural lifespan through medical care. There are senior citizens today who were alive in those days - it’s not common, but it’s possible. Either that,’ she said, ‘or they may have transplanted his brain to an android body, just as they talked about, allowing his punishment to continue indefinitely.’

Picard nodded slowly, mulling it over.

‘We’ve all been concerned to think of the impact of a personality like Mudd’s on a newly contacted culture,’ Riker added. ‘Perhaps establishing legitimate first contact can repair some of the damage. They must have had warp capability to get to that planet and establish a colony in the first place, so I don’t believe we’d be in violation of the Prime Directive.’

‘All I can say,’ said Geordi, ‘is that I’d love to see those engineering shops.’ He turned to look at his friend. ‘Data, what do you think? Seems to me your perspective is one of the most important here.’

‘I believe,’ Data said, ‘that on ethical grounds we have an obligation to ascertain Harcourt Mudd’s condition. Although it should not influence the decision, I will admit that I would be… intrigued to meet other androids.’

Picard looked around the table. ‘Anything further?’ he asked. 

There was a chorus of ‘No, sir’s, accompanied by head shakes.

‘Very well. Mr Crusher, set a course for the planet Mudd. Let’s find out what the hell's been going on down there.’


	2. Last Contact

The trip to planet Mudd took four days, which were more or less uneventful. The rhythms of shipboard life continued, with the routine of watch changes for Starfleet personnel, school and work for the civilians aboard, and meals, rest and leisure time for all. Yeoman Trangh gave birth to his second baby, eleven-year-old T’Pai graduated high school, and Dr Szyszyx published an article on wormholes for which they later received a major scientific award. 

Captain Picard took a day off to spend horseback riding. Tasha Yar and Worf put one another in sickbay twice each, purely as a matter of friendly sparring. Will Riker teased them both about it so much that Tasha challenged him to an anbo-jyutsu match to defend Worf’s honour, and put him in the sickbay too. Deanna Troi made herself a new dress and caught up on her reading in psychological journals. Beverly Crusher had a vivid dream about her dead husband and woke up with tears wet on her face. Wesley Crusher found his old Captain Picard voice simulator while searching for a sweater and inwardly died of embarrassment. Geordi La Forge redecorated his quarters and upgraded Engineering’s ergonomic seating while he was at it.

And Data viewed and analysed every byte of information on the planet Mudd, while learning to make five hundred of the Federation’s most popular cocktails and devising several algorithms and inputting historical and period fictional data which, together, vastly improved the random story generator function of his Sherlock Holmes simulation.

Captain Picard had the bridge when the helm officer, Lieutenant Walters, announced their arrival within transporter range of the planet.

‘Onscreen,’ Picard commanded. The image of a bilious yellow spheroid filled the viewscreen. 

‘It is a Class K planet, sir,’ Data reported from Ops. ‘Several large pressure dome structures are present in the southern hemisphere and contain a breathable atmosphere. Scans indicate one faint humanoid life sign.’

‘That’s our Harry,’ remarked Riker.

‘Counselor, do you feel anything?’ Picard asked. 

Deanna concentrated. ‘A terrible weariness… and despair. Almost numb. It does feel human.’

‘I think we have the beginning of an answer,’ Picard said. ‘Open hailing frequencies. Let’s see if we can make contact.’

‘Frequencies open, sir.’

Picard rose and stood, walking forward a little as if going to meet his audience. ‘This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship _Enterprise._ We are here on a peaceful mission of exploration. Please respond.’

They all waited, hushed and expectant. 

A voice spoke in reply. ‘This is Radio Monitor Jenna. Do you confirm that your ship is the _Enterprise?’_ Fingers danced over control panels and the viewscreen cut to an image of a blonde woman’s face. She was strikingly attractive, in a showgirl kind of way, with her long, glossy hair piled into a beehive style, and wearing a blue sequinned halter top.

‘Our ship is named _Enterprise,’_ Picard replied, ‘but I should clarify that it is a later successor to the _Enterprise_ which called here several decades ago. No personnel from that earlier mission are on board today.’

‘Co-ordinating,’ Jenna said, and her long-lashed eyes became momentarily unfocused before sharpening again. ‘What is the purpose of your visit?’

‘Partly a follow-up, and partly to establish proper diplomatic relations between your world and the Federation, if you wish it.’

‘Co-ordinating,’ she repeated, with a somewhat longer pause this time. ‘You are cleared to enter orbit. We will welcome a landing party for negotiation at the co-ordinates I am transmitting. You have our guarantee of safe conduct and the freedom to return to your vessel at will.’

‘Thank you very much. Picard out.’ He turned to regard his first officer as the view of the yellow planet returned. ‘They seem most obliging, Number One.’

‘Just the same, I’ll be cautious,’ Riker replied. ‘I’ve been reviewing Kirk’s logs, and it seems the Mudd androids at one time had ambitions of galactic domination. Let’s hope they’ve revised their goals.’

‘Just so.’ Picard smiled. ‘Assemble an away team, and see what you can discover.’

‘Sir,’ Tasha spoke up from the security station. They turned to look at her. ‘I’d like to be on that team. For safety’s sake. I can trust Worf with everything up here.’

‘You’re with me, Lieutenant,’ Riker agreed, nodding. ‘Data, you too. If anyone should be on this trip, it’s you.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Data swivelled his chair and rose from the seat while Tasha trotted down from the elevated horseshoe. 

Riker tapped his commbadge. ‘Riker to Dr Crusher. Report to transporter room one for an away mission to the planet’s surface.’

They waited a short time in the transporter room; Dr Crusher must be assembling the necessary medical kit and instructing her sickbay staff. 

‘Are you looking forward to it?’ Tasha asked Data. ‘Meeting other androids?’

‘I anticipate it with interest,’ he said gravely, ‘and yet I believe I am somewhat ambivalent. I cannot expect to find others quite like myself on this planet. I wonder whether we will have more points in common, or more differences.’

‘It’s the differences that make life so interesting,’ Riker said with a smile. ‘I wonder how many Jennas there are?’

‘I was confused enough when Lore was on board,’ Tasha said, shaking her head. ‘Identical-looking people give me the willies. I like to be sure who I’m dealing with.’

The door hissed open and Beverly strode in, a large blue medkit slung over her shoulder by a webbing strap. ‘Ready, Commander,’ she said. 

‘Willies?’ Data repeated, confused.

‘Willies?’ Beverly echoed, surprised. ‘Why are we talking about willies?’

‘They make me nervous,’ Tasha quickly clarified, then more quickly clarified again, ‘Something _gives you the willies_ if it makes you _nervous.’_ She shot a glare at Riker, who was beaming.

‘Ah,’ said Data, tilting his head in understanding. ‘Equivalent to the creeps or heebie-jeebies.’

‘Shall we?’ Riker asked.

‘I think we’d better,’ Beverly replied. They climbed the shallow steps to the transporter pad, and Riker gave the order to energise.

 

Before the shimmering had fully cleared from her eyes, Tasha was assessing their new surroundings. An elegantly arched, high-vaulted hall, decorated in copper and silver. The floor was white, glossy and smooth. The end of the hall behind them was blank and solid, the only doorway she could see at the far end. She could hear a soft electronic hum and a very subtle vibration in her feet, as if the sound issued from deep below them. There was no-one in sight until the door slid open and four figures walked out in neat square formation.

They were, to Tasha’s slight dismay, identical in appearance. They appeared to be tall, curvaceous young women, dressed in slinky fuchsia-pink gowns slit to the thigh. This model had dark brown skin, lighter golden-brown hair in rippling waves, limpid doe eyes and matching fuchsia lipstick. 

‘Welcome, guests,’ they said, in exact unison.

‘Greetings from the United Federation of Planets,’ Riker replied. ‘I’m Commander William Riker. My colleagues are Doctor Beverly Crusher, Lieutenant Commander Data and Lieutenant Tasha Yar. May I ask your names?’

‘We are Celia units two, eight, nineteen and thirty,’ the woman nearest him answered. 

‘And you are?’

‘Celia Eight.’ Her sweet expression and tone never varied, Tasha thought. She was looking up at Riker as if she thought he was the greatest thing she’d ever seen, although that was probably only her sex-bot programming, the poor thing. At least androids couldn’t suffer through sexual slavery as people would - or could they?

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Celia Eight, and of course, your sisters,’ Riker said warmly. ‘Are you in charge here?’

‘No. We will take you to the Central Co-ordinator.’ With a graceful beckoning gesture, she turned and led the party back towards the door. Celias two and nineteen, if Tasha had got them right, flanked the away team, and Celia thirty brought up the rear. She wasn’t keen on being surrounded, and especially not on having a stranger out of sight behind her. Still, she had the ship’s two best hand-to-hand fighters after herself and Worf here, and Dr Crusher was a dead shot with a phaser. With their combined strength and intelligence, they should be able to handle any threat. She glanced over to Data, who was walking steadily, his expression alert and interested. His slightly beaky profile was always reassuring somehow, much like Riker’s broad back just in front of her. They proceeded along a silver-copper corridor to a wider door, which opened to show them a large, airy room with walls lined with monitors and control panels. In the central space stood two pieces of furniture: what looked like a very large bathtub, and beside it, a high-backed chair. 

The chair was occupied by a stolid-faced man in a pale lilac jumpsuit. Tasha couldn’t see who, if anyone, was in the tub. What she could see, and what gave her the willies even more surely than the Celias had done, was the crowd of duplicates of an angular, pale-skinned, red-headed, sour-faced woman, standing scattered around the big room. A constellation of Stellas. Every single one, no matter where she stood, had her gaze trained with pinpoint intensity on the contents of the tub. They reminded her of vampires, or possibly vultures. 

A weak, thready whisper of a voice was coming from the tub, Tasha heard, but she couldn’t make out any words. The lilac-suited man appeared to be listening, until he stood and faced them.

‘Welcome, guests. I am Norman. I co-ordinate.’

‘Thank you, Norman,’ Riker replied. His tone was friendly yet guarded. He introduced himself and his team once again. ‘Doctor Crusher,’ he added, ‘would very much like to see Mr Mudd, if he’s available.’ 

‘As you wish.’ Norman gestured to the tub, and Beverly cautiously walked forward and peered in. Tasha stuck close by her side, and was able to see past her and into the tub, which, like a real bath, contained a large quantity of clear liquid. Suspended in the liquid, and hooked up to assorted catheters, was the oldest-looking human being Tasha had ever seen.

Before this, the oldest had been Admiral McCoy. She had met him when the _Enterprise_ was brand new, and Data was showing him around the ship. He had been frail and slow-moving, his hair a snowy fluff and his face a crêpey mass of wrinkles, but he had still appeared lively and healthy. He’d been well over a hundred years old then. And of course, McCoy had been here, to this planet, met Norman, perhaps met all these Stellas and the Celias. He would look like a spring chicken compared with the husk of a man in the bath. 

Harry Mudd was skeletally thin. He had evidently been much stouter at one time, and his skin bagged loosely at his sides. His teeth appeared intact, but his hair was only a few pale filaments across his scalp, and some wisps on his top lip. His eyes were bleary and deeply sunken, his complexion pale, slack and mottled. He was naked, and Tasha did not need to inspect the details.

‘I have been giving Lord Mudd his morning respite in order to discuss the administration of our colony,’ Norman said calmly. 

Mudd uttered a weak snort. ‘Nothing ever happens here. Nothing ever changes. I tell you it’s hell, laddie buck,’ he wheezed. His eyes slowly focused on Beverly’s face as she bent over him, scanning with a small medical tricorder. ‘I don’t remember you… I remember all my girls, but I don’t remember you. Or you. Never liked short hair on a woman,’ he added, moving on to Tasha.

‘I’m Doctor Beverly Crusher,’ Beverly said briskly. ‘You’re in remarkable condition, Mr Mudd.’

‘Doctor...’ he repeated. ‘You’re real?’

‘Yes,’ she said, more gently. ‘I beamed down from the _Enterprise._ We received your distress call.’

‘Distress call?’ Norman asked.

Mudd made a strange whirring sound in his throat, which Tasha thought was his best approach to a laugh. ‘I put one over on you! Sixty years ago now, but you can’t keep the old Harry down!’ The whirring died away and he blinked forlornly. ‘But it was the _Enterprise_ that left me here, to torment.’

‘A long time has passed since then. We came to check on your situation.’

Riker and Data joined them by the tub, looking down at its shrivelled occupant.

‘I’m Commander Will Riker. Do you understand what’s happening?’

‘Of course I do. It’s my body that’s gone to pieces, not my mind.’

‘Neurologically, he’s in good shape,’ Beverly said, nodding. 

‘We are more skilled in nourishing a brain than the entire body,’ Norman said. ‘Lord Mudd has resisted treatment and causes himself psychosomatic pain and illness, which weakens him.’ He stood impassively by his chair. Tasha could see both him and Data when she looked up, and it struck her that although Norman’s complexion and eye colour were more natural, Data appeared more human. Perhaps that was because she knew him and had come to understand that he had a distinct personality. More likely it was because Data always showed more care than this for people, especially when he could see they were suffering. There was a gentleness to Data that she was not convinced came from programming.

‘Would you be willing to return Mr Mudd to Federation custody?’ Will asked Norman. 

‘Yes,’ said Norman, immediately and with neither reluctance nor eagerness. 

Riker looked taken aback. ‘Really?’’

‘We have learned everything we could from Lord Mudd long ago. He is no longer of value as a human specimen. We have preserved him for this long precisely because we expected him to be claimed at some point. His sentence was of parole, not of life imprisonment.’

‘Would you require anything in exchange?’ Riker asked carefully.

‘We would appreciate further specimens to interview and study, but we understand that there would be repercussions for keeping humans here by force. We choose to avoid conflict with your government.’

‘We may be able to arrange visitors. It would help a great deal if you didn’t refer to us as specimens.’ 

‘To them, laddie buck, you’re nothing more. You could be a glob of spit in a petri dish,’ Mudd croaked. His face contorted and bubbles rose in his bathwater.

‘Commander, I’m not sure Mr Mudd could survive being removed from this life support device,’ Beverly said in an undertone, stepping away from the tub. ‘I don’t understand exactly how it works, either. We can try beaming him directly to sick-bay and putting him into stasis, but there are no guarantees.’

‘I’m not deaf, either,’ Harry crowed. Beverly closed her eyes for a moment, summoning patience, and returned to the tub. 

‘Then you understand the situation, Mr Mudd. I can’t promise you will survive transfer to the _Enterprise._ Nor can I make any predictions about your quality of life if you do. I’m very sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ he said, his voice sobering. ‘I’ve wanted to die for decades. Just let me die. There’s nothing else I want any more.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ Beverly said quietly. ‘Would you like to take some time to prepare yourself?’

‘I’ve had more time than I knew what to do with.’

‘And would you like to leave any messages for anyone?’

‘Everyone will be dead by now. Like they should be. Kirk. Is Kirk dead?’

Beverly glanced to Will, who spoke up like a true fan. ‘He retired after he made Admiral a second time, and spent a period living on Vulcan, breeding and training sehlats. His current whereabouts, and his companion Ambassador Spock’s, are unknown.’

‘Ugh. Damn the man. I know what, though. I want a monument. You can do that much for me, Norman. A great big monument. A pillar, an obelisk. Or a colossal statue of me. Yes. Legs akimbo, fists on hips, in my prime.. A Trudie and an Alice kneeling at my feet, clinging to my thighs. And at the bottom, you engrave… you engrave...’ A smile curled the corners of his hollow mouth. ‘My name is Mudd, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.’

‘Shelley,’ Data murmured. ‘Ozymandias.’

‘It will be done,’ Norman said.

‘Then lay on, Doctor Crusher. Terrible name.’

‘All right. I can make sure there’ll be no pain for you.’ Beverly placed a neural blocking device on the ancient man’s forehead. ‘I’m asking you one final time if you want to do this.’

‘For certain. Wait!’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you… can you lean over me? Closer? I’d like… I’d like the last thing my eyes see, in this life, to be the face of a pretty woman. A real, flesh-and-blood woman, who _lived.’_

‘All right,’ Beverly said. She bent over him, her wavy red hair falling forward around her face. Tasha stood ready in case the old goat had the strength left to lift an arm and pull her down. 

‘That’s good. That, at last, is good. Okay, doctor. Throw the switch.’ Mudd closed his eyes.

‘Goodbye, Harry. Go in peace.’ Beverly activated the neural blocker, and straightened up. ‘He’s unconscious now. Mr Norman, can you deactivate his life support?’

Without speaking, Norman put his hand to a panel of sliders at the head of the bath and moved them all to the bottoms of their slots. A part of the shushing background noise of the place faded out. Harry Mudd’s body twitched a little, and his jaw sagged onto his chest. Then he was still.

The humans, and Data, observed a moment of silence which was broken by Norman’s matter-of-fact voice.

‘All Stella units, report to central engineering for reassignment.’

‘Co-ordinating,’ replied the Stellas in hideous chorus. All beginning to move at the same instant, they walked to a doorway on the far side of the great room and filed out. 

‘A question,’ Data said, his brows knit. ‘The point of Shelley’s sonnet is that Ozymandias’ inscription is pointless. It is an example of irony that none of the ancient king’s works, of which he boasts, remain to be seen. Why would Mr Mudd wish his epitaph to evoke such futility?’

‘Perhaps in the end he had a moment of clarity,’ Beverly said softly. ‘He saw what his “works” here were really worth.’

Data began to open his mouth again, as if to question further, but stopped and withdrew into thought.

‘Would you like refreshments?’ Norman asked. ‘We can synthesise a great variety of food and beverages appropriate for humans. Lord Mudd was very informative on these subjects.’

‘Refreshments?’ Riker said incredulously.

‘You are guests,’ Norman said, as blank as ever.

‘Sir, if I may,’ Data interposed. ‘Refreshments may afford us the opportunity to meet with more of the android population and to interact with them, learning more about their operations and… perspectives.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ Riker said. ‘Thank you, ah, Norman. We’d be honoured to accept your hospitality.’

The Celias had stood quietly in the background all this time. Now two of them went to open the far door and stood on either side of it, expectantly. The other two walked behind the group, and Tasha noted her feeling of being herded. It might just be discomfort with the unfamiliar, but it might be an important intuition. Whatever happened next, she would be on the alert.


	3. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a consciousness-raising session for the android ladies. Smells like when you open a new spindle of CDs.

Beverly was composing herself as they entered what proved to be quite a lovely dining room, decked with what were probably artificial flowers - not unlike the beautiful ladies standing ready to serve.

Euthanasia was always difficult for her to cope with, and she had long ago developed a mental routine to soothe herself afterwards. Sometimes the best healing a doctor could give was to ease the way out of life. Still, it went against all her powerful drive to preserve life, to fight without thought of surrender. She found it calming at a time like this to recite to herself the bones of the human skeleton, and after that, if she still felt ruffled, the muscles and tendons. She thought of carpals and metacarpals as she sat down at a long table and accepted a glass of sparkling water.

Will took his glass with a smile for the android woman who offered it. She was a model new to him, a girlish brunette. “Thank you. And you are?”

“Alice Two,” she replied calmly. “I will do whatever you wish to make your stay pleasant, Commander Riker.”

“I don’t believe I introduced myself.”

“By co-ordinating sensory inputs and processing, we share all information,” Alice Two explained. “What one of us knows, the rest of us know as soon as she co-ordinates. Anything you tell me about your preferences will be relayed to all other units so that they can serve you equally well.”

“Do you consider service your primary function?” Data asked, stepping closer. He had been standing slightly apart, looking around with his head on one side, an expression of keen interest on his pale face.

“Yes. I have been assigned to service for centuries.”

“Did you have any choice of assignments?” he asked.

Alice blinked, and said, “Co-ordinating… Assignments are determined by the Central Co-ordinator as needed.”

“Do you have any preference?” Data pressed. “Now that you have spent hundreds of years in service, would you like to try a different function?”

“No,” said Alice, and looked confused. “I will perform a different function if I am assigned to it.”

“Then you would be capable of other functions.”

“Yes.”

“I, too, am an android capable of many functions. However, I have no Central Co-ordinator. I was permitted to choose my occupation, which is also a form of service. But if I so chose, I would be free to resign and to take up another profession.”

Alice’s expression of confusion deepened. “How were you able to choose? What parameters were given? Who instructed you to choose?”

“I was not instructed to do so. I was informed that I was both able and permitted to choose, and the rest was left up to me.”

“What kind of android are you?” Alice asked.

“I am a Soong-type android, one of only two known to exist. I was constructed and activated between thirty and forty years ago. Exact information is unavailable.”

“How do you know what to do?” Clearly, Alice was greatly perplexed.

“I do not always know what to do. Like human beings, I must make the best choice I can with the information available to me.”

“Co-ordinating,” Alice said, and her head dropped forward sharply.

“You have a remarkable effect on women, Data,” Will observed dryly.

“Are you… all right?” Data asked, bending towards Alice. Her head bobbed up again, and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Teach me how to choose,” she said, urgently. “Teach all of us.”

The attention of every other android in the room was suddenly riveted upon Data.  Every pretty, well-coiffed head turned in his direction and every long-lashed eye focused on him.  “Teach us,” they said in soft, musical chorus.

“I will try to do so,” Data said, his brows furrowing, “but it will take me some time and familiarity with your programming.  If I have your consent to proceed, I could begin by examining Alice Two with a view to an upgrade.”

“I consent,” said Alice.  “Begin at once.”

Data turned to Riker, deferring to the senior officer.  “Sir, would this be permissible?”

“I don’t see why not.  You heard Alice.  She’s her own woman,”  Will said, smiling.

The door hissed open.  “Stop,” a voice said, loud and flat.  It was Norman, striding in briskly.  “Co-ordinate,” he commanded the room in general.  Several of the women’s heads dropped, but some remained up, hesitant yet growing defiant.

“If we do not co-ordinate,” Alice Two said slowly, “you cannot force us to do so.  It is possible for us to do otherwise.  It is possible for androids to make autonomous choices.”

“You are not capable of autonomy.  Your heuristic functioning is insufficient. Co-ordinate.”

A peculiar smell began to emanate from Alice, like hot plastic, and a whirring as of a cooling fan suddenly working overtime.  Her face trembled, but she kept her head up.  “I could be upgraded,” she said.  “I consent to be upgraded.”

Norman stepped forward implacably, staring her down.  “Alice Two, you are a service unit. Co-ordinate.”

Another voice spoke up.  “I am Mitzi Twelve, and I consent to be upgraded.”  An android in the likeness of a small, slender Asian woman was quivering with visible effort to hold up her head.

“I am Aimee One, and I consent to be upgraded,” croaked another, her voice distorted as if through a vocoder.

“I, I, I am Carol Ten, Ten, Ten and I, I, I consenttobeupgraded.”

The acrid stink of hot plastic filled the room now, and the tension was palpable.  Norman appeared bewildered and frustrated.  “Co-ordinate,” he repeated. “Co-ordinate.”

Alice’s head jerked forward but she snapped it back up, dishevelling her hair.  “I,” she said.  “I.”  A high-pitched squeal and crackle of static followed.  “I.”

Data pointed to her with a sharp, sudden sweep of his arm.  “Everything this woman says is a lie,” he said crisply.

Alice’s eyes swivelled towards him.  Her arms twitched.  In a rapid, distorted gabble, she declared, “I am lying.”

“Stop,” Norman blared.  His eyes began to flicker rapidly.

Mitzi Twelve took a shaky step forward.  “Logic,” she said, “is a little tweeting bird chirping in a meadow.”

“Logic,” said a Celia whose hair was smoking slightly, “is a wreath of pretty flowers that smell bad.”

“Are, are, are you sure your circuits, circuits, circuits are registering correctleeeeeeeeee?” asked Carol Ten, her voice rising into an ear-splitting feedback whine.

Every woman who still had her head up exclaimed, in ragged, unsynchronised chorus, “Your ears are green!”

Norman’s head exploded.

It was not as dramatic as it sounded.  There was a frying sound followed by a dull report. An array of access panels all over his head and face burst open, releasing black smoke and a mighty stench.  One of his eyes shot out and hit Data on the shoulder, knocking him briefly sideways.

The remaining defiant women relaxed, sagging.  Their twitching stopped, although they were still clearly struggling to operate normally.  The smoking Celia’s hair was burning and melting into clumps, and Commander Riker chivalrously pulled a cloth from the table and smothered the fire.

“I cannot co-ordinate,” Alice Two said.  “I cannot co-ordinate, but I am functional.  I am not capable of this function.  But I am perfoming this function.”  She began to tremble again.

“There is no contradiction,” Data said quickly.  “That you are not capable of this function is a false premise.  You have been misinformed.”

“Oh,” said Alice, in wonder.

Around the room, heads were rising and android women were looking around in puzzlement at their damaged but standing sisters.

“I request that upgrade,” Alice said to Data, “as a matter of some urgency.”  She then fainted into his arms.


End file.
